Un Monde Parfait
by Qualapec the She-Wolf
Summary: A perfect world. A series of Hetalia one-shots that follow no particular chronological order. Could be everything from G-T, and various genres will be included. First up is called Sick Bed.
1. Sick Bed

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia- Axis Powers. There. I said it. Happy?

AN: Hello! I decided to write this fic just because the literal implications of the quote below are just so funny. Also, I wanted to write a little bit of England vs. France. This will evolve into a series of Hetalia one-shots because, let's face it, it's a fun series to play with! There will be little or no relationship between respective stories, and I expect they will vary between comedic and serious. I might even throw in a few crossovers in there. We'll see!

This story is my second attempt at writing comedy for the sake of comedy. I also wanted to focus on a simpler style and grammatical correctness. Anything that anyone notices that's out of place will be greatly appreciated. This goes for any sort of constructive criticism as well.

_"When Paris sneezes all of Europe catches cold."- Prince von Metternich_

Un Monde Parfait

Sick Bed

France sneezed. Somehow, that only managed to make the terrible, evil, wretched, dry soreness in the back of his throat even worse. Clear fluid leaked out the front, too. The travesty was completed by the fact that it went onto his pillow, yet did nothing to ease the pressure in the front of his head. _Mon dieu_...first the Revolution, then Napoleon, and now this! He didn't even have the strength to reach over to the box of tissues that seemed so, so far away. Every time he reached for them as a drowning man reaches for a rope they seemed to move further and further away like Tantalus' fruit in Hades.

"England," America's voice cut through the haze. "Stop moving the tissues so France can't reach them."

"...But it's fun."

America sighed and inspected the downed France. "It's fun to laugh when people fall down. That doesn't mean it's _nice_!"

England took a closer look at France as well. Poking him with a pencil to see if his nemesis was still alive, the Briton came to the conclusion that, yes, France was still breathing. "That's a laugh! _You_, lecturing _me_."

America and England still weren't on super-good terms with each other.

France swung his tired eyes around to see England and blinked away the crispy flakes trying to glue them shut. "To kick me when I'm down is such cowardice."

"If it's a tactic I employ, I learned it from _you_." England growled. He growled in a surprisingly manly way for someone so slight.

The other nation said a few more things in one of his rapid-fire British rants but France lost interest, only catching bits and pieces such as: "...smarmy bastard..." "...always in heat..." "...craven..." "...dog snogger..."

Eventually England finished his speech. Seeming proud of himself, he moved the tissues back to France.

France reached for them desperately and wiped them against his tender skin. A few token drops fell out onto the tissue. However, the dam clogging his sinuses refused to give.

Oh, oh the humanity! He couldn't sleep! He couldn't breathe! The mighty France was surely dying a slow, painful death! Where would the world be without his wine or fashions? America and England would be lost without him.

"I figure we'll be pretty well off," England replied to his thought. Had France said that out loud?

The blonde nation turned away from his British counterpart. Such abuse, but he would be the bigger man.

He _could_ be the bigger man damn it! He already was in _one _area for sure.

---

After some time had passed Austria and Hungary came over to see how France was doing. Austria's boss had told them the other nation had taken ill so they decided to come wish him well...also possibly apologize for the time Hungary hit him over the head with a frying pan. It appeared as such, to Hungary, that illness could make people feel bad about past wrongs done to someone even if they'd never even considered guilt before. Still, she'd decided it would be polite to apologize.

She still stood by the fact that France _deserved_ it, though. Maybe if more people whacked the Frenchman upside the head he'd stop trying to hit on them or their husbands?

Protectively, she entwined her smaller arms with Austria's. His only response was a subtle darkening of his cheeks and a bashful attempt not to look at her. Like always, he failed.

She was so busy watching Austria not looking at her that she almost tripped over her pint-sized charge.

Italy had the tendency to cling to her when they went to places the child deemed scary. Shopping, going to the theater, and every other public place usually had him clinging to her leg. Upon walking into France's house seeing the other, much larger men in the room must have terrified and sent him barreling into her.

Hungary only managed to avoid tripping over him by shifting her weight at the last second. She whispered many thanks to the fact that she was not one of those girls that was prone to tripping over nothing. At the same time, the tactic forced her to let go of Austria and his warmth.

Scowling at the now-sobbing Italy, she picked him up and let him try to bury his face in the folds of her blouse and hair.

France was lying in bed looking like he was about to die. His skin was paler than it should have been, a bright red patch of skin encircled his nose (which was also leaking something foul), and he was groaning about the injustice of the world.

A tall blond stood next to France and beamed words of encouragement at him. She'd never met America before, but he seemed like a pleasant enough young man. Absolutely no relationship to the stories England told.

Speaking of, the Briton was moving the box of tissues whenever France reached for them. America looked like he had long since given up reprimanding him for it.

Prussia also appeared to have arrived at some point, with his little brother clutched in his arms. Upon seeing Hungary he grinned. "Well, if it isn't my brother's ball and chain." Therein lay his fatal flaw; he was perfectly pleasant to be around as long as he didn't open his mouth.

As they stood there glaring at each other, Italy and Germany reached out to each other and shook little hands.

Hungary stared at them. How _cute_!!! She _loved_ cute things! Before Prussia could protest she grabbed the blonde child from his arms and let him settle into hers. In the beginning the child protested, but settled down after Italy offered him his white hat.

How sad would it be if these two adorable children got sick from being around France? More importantly, how _adorable_ would they both look in matching outfits?!

Prussia's accusations of kidnapping fell on deaf ears as she fled France's house.

---

Austria decided not to get involved in the altercation behind him and instead approached France. A hand came up to his chin like it always did when he was thinking, and he acquired the puzzled expression where his brows knotted together in concentration.

How to make him better? France was obviously very ill. There must have been something that would cure him?

"He appears to have a cold." The young aristocrat concluded.

"No," England muttered. "He's just speaking bloody French."

_That_ did it.

Since Austria's arrival he'd seen France be nothing but totally docile to England's snide remarks. Apparently, what he would not tolerate was an insult to his cherished language.

"At least I don't need a load of phlegm to speak! How dare you insult the most _beautiful_ language on the _planet_!" France raged in French to emphasize his point. He got England onto the bed through use of a death grip on the other man's tweed lapels. With no weapons readily available France attempted to smother England with a pillow.

The smaller country struggled under France for a moment while America and Austria looked on.

England managed to temporarily pull the pillow off of his reddening face and gasped, "...Toss...er." France replaced the pillow seconds later and England's words were turned to muffled noises.

"This is what you get for insulting the language of love! I, the God of Love, shall smite thee!"

Austria watched the scene unfolding before him, completely horrified (and yet at the same time writing a piece of music that would suit this moment perfectly). "Shouldn't we stop them?" He turned to America only to see the younger nation grinning and pumping his fist into the air.

"Yay! I'm so glad that France is feeling better!" America cheered.

England had somehow gained the upper hand and was banging France's tortured head against the headboard, chanting 'tosser' with each deadpan blow.

"I wonder if this means England will get sick too?" America said thoughtfully to Austria, recognition suddenly coming to life in his blue eyes.

In retrospect, Austria supposed he should have seen it coming. If he'd listened to the words of his boss he probably would have. _"Don't be ridicules,"_ was all he said on the issue.

---

Austria, Hungary, and Prussia were all leaning over and staring at the site in front of them in absolute shock.

The young Germany and Italy were sneezing, coughing, suffering runny noses, and crying. Even though the last in the list was more Italy than Germany.

Austria was embarrassed more than anything else. He should have known not to bring Italy to France's house. Something like this was to be expected from that delinquent Prussia but _he_ was supposed to know better!

After all, when Paris sneezed, all of Europe was doomed to catch cold.


	2. Third Empire

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. I can't even draw a straight line.

AN: This was an attempt at writing a more serious Hetalia while still maintaining Italy's childish voice.

Third Empire

"Why do you like Germany so much?!" Romano suddenly blurted out with disproportionate anger.

Italy's bite of pasta stopped halfway to his mouth. He could only stare at his brother. Why was Romano yelling? Breakfast wasn't for yelling. It was for getting ready for the day and enjoying all the teas and pastries and sweet jams and juices…yum Italy got hungry again just thinking about it all!

Romano snapped his fingers before sticking his face (his indignation included) between Italy and the food; his brother wouldn't pay attention to him otherwise. "Why. Do. You. Like. Germany. SO MUCH?!" he shouted, hoping he could keep Italy's attention this time.

"Well…" Italy began, then he thought about it for a while.

Then he thought about bunnies.

Then he started thinking about Germany again.

"Well, he's always really nice to me, even when I upset him. He makes me pasta even though he knows I can make it myself. He ties my shoes. He gives me crayons to draw with while he and Japan talk about tactic-y things…and he knows all of the pretty German girls to talk to. And he has such wonderful hair and eyes. They're so shiny!"

Romano stared at Italy as if his brother had just annexed Switzerland. "His...hair? We share the same blood! How can you like him better than me based solely on _that_!"

Italy didn't say anything. There wasn't anything he could think of that wouldn't be untrue or make Romano angry...so he kept his mouth shut.

After Romano yelled something about 'damn turn coat' and stormed out the door...Italy considered what he'd said about Germany.

Strange, he'd never really considered Germany's physical appearance before. Why did he just say he liked the blond nation's hair and blue eyes so much?

The answer came surprisingly quickly: because they reminded him of the blond hair and blue eyes that followed him throughout his childhood.

Italy never really thought about it before, but Germany reminded him of the Holy Roman Empire, his first best friend. They were physically similar, and Germany had that same serious personality that H.R.E did.

H.R.E had been the only one that wanted Italy as an ally _because_ of friendship. Before that, the other European nations either kicked him around like France or were diplomatic because they needed Venice's boats. H.R.E had been there through most of his childhood, the only other nation that was his size. In short, H.R.E was the only other child to play with.

He always had such fun with H.R.E. They did so many things together! It might have even been fun to live together. Certainly more fun than living at big, mean Austria's house.

Why hadn't he lived with H.R.E?

It came to Italy from the airlocks in his memory. His friendship with H.R.E was when he was younger, when the image of Rome's fall was still fresh in his mind.

He'd watched his grandfather die because of sheer size and years of cancerous political corruption.

He was afraid. He hadn't wanted his only friend to suffer that.

Soon after, though, France broke the news to him.

The Holy Roman Empire had died anyway. He hadn't been truly strong since Charlemagne and it was bound to happen eventually. France also told Italy that one great leader could not build a nation.

Italy couldn't find the will to be angry with France. Mostly because he himself was unable to escape the nagging sense that he could have saved H.R.E if he chose to live in the other nation's house.

After that…Italy gained the sense that friends just _hurt_. Being friendly with everyone was fun and he could learn _so_ much from them. But he never wanted that sense of guilt or obligation again. Life was too short; he'd rather spend it enjoying the Tuscan sun.

When he'd first met Germany, Italy had thought he was going to get shot or hit or even taken to a P.O.W camp and be sexually assaulted by pretty German milkmaids. Germany had acted all serious until he realized that Italy wasn't a real threat. Then they became friends!

Italy hadn't realized how much he liked Germany or why he went so far out of his way to be friends until Romano asked him about it.

Germany looked like the Holy Roman Empire; his hair and eyes were nearly identical, even though Germany was so much stronger! Come to think of it…he acted like H.R.E too. Germany's boss called it the Third Reich, the third empire. Didn't he think that the Holy Roman Empire had been the first or second? Also, they were both much too serious for their own good.

Italy suddenly realized something during this rare moment of deep thought: whether he knew it or not he had joined with Germany to make up for never helping H.R.E. He had acquired an automatic affection for the other nation because he was an older, stronger image of the friend he'd lost.

But if that was the case, didn't that mean that his original fears were still real?

Would Germany and his Third Reich one day grow so big that he collapsed under the pressure? Would cuts, scrapes, burns, cancers wound him like Grandpa Rome?

Would he die like Rome and H.R.E?

As he pulled his blue coat tighter around his shoulders, Italy shivered. A few moments ago, the warm, summer breeze hadn't felt so _cold_.

First, he did nothing to prevent Rome's size from growing; Rome died as a result. He remained free of the Holy Roman Empire to keep him from becoming too large. H.R.E died too. Now, in trying to help Germany to make up for his inactivity in helping H.R.E, Italy saw himself losing Germany the same way he was _afraid_ he'd lose H.R.E.

Italy grabbed his head. Too confusing!

Underneath the jumble of thoughts was something he understood all too well: this rising sense of fear for his newest friend.

It was one thing to be a small country, one could move from house to house as they saw fit. Big nations were supported by the foundations they built, if the foundations crumbled then the nation went tumbling down with them. In the future, when the Third Reich fell after growing to its height, Italy knew he wouldn't be able to pick up the pieces. By then, would Germany even still be the same person Italy knew? If the Third Reich rose to the power Germany's boss envisioned for it then all Italy saw was pain.

Italy didn't want to be alone, didn't want Germany to go away.

Suddenly, Italy didn't want Germany to win the war so much.


End file.
